Wendy McNeill   
A Dreamer’s Guide to Hardcore Living
(Six Shooter)
***1/2 

Generally I’m not one for femme-y folkie sounds—the wispy, waify indie thing never really grew on me. But I do have an inexplicable fondness for the accordion—don’t ask—and “Stop,” the opening track on Wendy McNeill’s A Dreamer’s Guide to Hardcore Living, stole my heart with its oom-pah-pah accordion line and dark, velvety vocals. Some might call it folk noir—pish! It’s far more brooding than that—imagine a female-fronted Gogol Bordello crawling through molasses and holding hands with Stephin Merritt. This new album from our most adorable former Darling of Folk (now expatriated to Sweden, sniff) is a 12-tracker full of gypsy-tinged cabaret ballads. Shrieks and stomps and handclaps fill out the noise amidst the toy piano, celesta, and other quirky sounds (including something the sleeve calls “creative tape deck kicking”). An irresistible acoustic hook starts out “Crossing Hearts/Cutting Threads,” quickly morphs into a static- and tech-drenched wall of background coos and pings, before stopping dead in its tracks—the ensuing silence then gives way to the gorgeous, sad, simple “Faith and the Long Haired Man.” (You know, I think I’ve met him before too.) It’s an album for those melancholy days when you realize summer’s fading fast and the nights are getting longer. And darker. 
FAWNDA MITHRUSH

Stereolab
Chemical Chords
(4AD)
***1/2 

Hooray! A new Stereolab CD! That means I get to pull my Stereolab Listening Chair out of the closet! It’s a large, egg-shaped device that stands on a square of white shag carpet in one corner of my apartment. (The CD slides into a retrofitted slot on the side, right next to the drink holder and the button that makes the chair rotate.) The exterior is spotless white molded plastic and the seat is upholstered with mauve vinyl, which does get a little sticky against my thighs in the August heat. But you simply have to climb inside and rest your head on the cushion between the built-in Koss Pro 4A headphones if you want to hear the vibraphone on “Silver Sands” or the vintage synths on “The Ecstatic Static” really pop. The chair takes up a lot of storage space, and my girlfriend keeps nagging me to get rid of it. But back in 1994, I had made her a deal: I’d sell the chair as soon as Stereolab made a record that didn’t sound like all their others. Chemical Chords is their 11th album, and the chair is still mine.
PAUL MATWYCHUK

Xavier Rudd
Dark Shades of Blue
(SaltX/Universal)
***
Dark Shades of Blue has a comfortable feel to it. Perhaps it’s because the disc was recorded in the 30 year-old artist’s home country—the great Down Under Land. With long winding psychedelic instrumentals featuring Rudd’s ever-present didgeridoo, it’s easy to see the influence the Outback had on this musician as he lay with his dog in Byron Bay on Australia’s east coast while cutting the record. Though the general overtones of his newest album are in fact quite dark, there are a few gems that show Rudd’s diversity. “Guku” opens with a weird tribal flamenco sound that leaves one expecting the pan flute to kick in at any moment, but the droning electric guitar substitutes nicely.  The songs are long—the shortest at three and a half minutes, the longest extending to eight minutes. Rudd’s ruddy vocals are strikingly similar to Eddie Vedder’s low, gritty mumbling.  Consequently, the disc sounds something like an experimental Pearl Jam album: heavy with a lot to digest.
ANDREW PAUL

Sebastien Tellier
Sexuality
(Record Makers)
***1/2

Sebastien Tellier works at the vanguard of French electronics along with Ed Banger Crew, Daft Punk, and Air, but his heart lives in the chanson past of Serge Gainsbourg and Felix LeClerc.
Sexuality, an 11-part (!) ode to lovemaking, finds Tellier’s lyrics warmly penetrated by the deeply satisfying sounds of Guy Manuel de Homem-Christo of Daft Punk.
It’s a successful hookup, resulting in a much more focused album than Tellier’s much-lauded but unlistenable Politics. And they’re not just doing it the same way over and over again. There are symphonic works (the wonderful “Manty”) with porn music guitar and slap (and tickle) bass (“Une Heure”) sharing the bed with synth-pop (“Fingers of Steel”).
Like a Daft Punk album with the tempo slowed down and a whole lot of whispered lyrics added in, Sexuality gently hits your ears like a French version of Junior Boys—and unless I miss my guess, that description alone ought to get most fans of electronic music panting with desire.
PROSPER PRODANIUK